


The Line of Dummies Meets The Internet

by Poplitealqueen



Series: Line of Dummies [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Drabbles, Faux modern AU, Ficlets, Gen, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:02:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poplitealqueen/pseuds/Poplitealqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Dáin has one fierce cartoon pig aesthetic, Thorin would cry if he ever found out about Y2K, Dís solves everything with kicks, and not a <em>single damn member</em> of the Line of Durin is tech savvy…Unless you count Dáin, but he worked for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Line of Dummies Meets The Internet

**Author's Note:**

> Crackity crack crack crack. Enjoy!
> 
> -poplitealqueen

The Line of Durin is known to have within its lineage some of the finest, strongest, and most stubborn Dwarves to ever be molded by Mahal. None could say they were weak…

…though walking disasters? Now  _that_  was something everyone called them.

This was their 8th computer in two months, and Dáin was handling it with more care than any of the rest of his family could manage. Upon buying it (and staring down the pimpled sales clerk with a pride only Durin’s Heirs could muster) they’d all unanimously agreed to give him free reign over it, and he wasn't complaining.

Their last seven attempts at computer care had ended in failure.  _Utter_  failure. Reclaiming Erebor had gone more smoothly.

Dáin himself had broken four of the mice on his own ( and  _why_  in Mahal’s great whiskers they were called that was beyond him. It was like naming the refrigerator ‘Azog’ simply for being tall and white). His touch had been too rough, as he'd come to figure out. Dwarves were much stronger than Men, and this strange Mannish technology only amplified that fact with how bloody  _fragile_  it was.

But at least it hadn’t caught on fire like when Frerin, Fíli, and Kíli had gotten their mitts on it unsupervised. Dís had smashed a hole in one tower with her foot when it made a noise strangely akin to a Warg howl, and his own son— Mahal bless him— Dáin’s own Thorin had gotten so many sodding viruses on the second computer (the one and only time he’d gone near one) that dipping the motherboard in hot oil would’ve been kinder fate. Thorin had outright denied that any of it was his fault, however. Dáin was beginning to wonder just how hard-headed a boy called the ‘Stonehelm’ could be, and decided he’d sit the lad down soon and teach him proper.

His cousin Thorin, on the other hand, thought the computer worthless, and had staunchly refused to go near a single one of them. Until now.

Sitting beside Dáin in his own swivel chair, Thorin kept grumbling incoherently as he rolled one of his hair beads up and down the desk. When one particularly hard flick sent it skittering over the edge, his grumbling turned to full-on grousing.

"This better be worth it, Dáin ," Thorin growled as he stooped to pick it up. "I’m beginning to suspect this is naught but some ruse."

Dáin squinted at the screen as he began to peck with two fingers at the keyboard. They needed a bigger one, he reminded himself, his fingers were still too damned big to hit the keys properly (and, again,  _keys_? They were bloody buttons, or he was a wood elf).

"Dunnae birasazriri jazar ni targzu," Dain replied. "Have some patience fer once."

Thorin snorted in answer. “That seems to be all I need to survive, if I’m to go by what you and Dís keep telling me.”

There were a few moments of quiet as both of them watched the screen change and load. They happened upon a tab marked Browser History, which Thorin rose his brows at curiously.

"Kíli’s been watchin’ something called ‘Lost’," Dáin commented. "If that’s what yer wonderin’ about. It isn’t anything to worry over."

"Why?" Thorin asked skeptically. The computer hadn’t been the only thing he’d steered clear of— he hadn’t gone near the television either, and getting him near the microwave had nearly cost Dáin , Dís, and Frerin their collective wits.

Dáin shrugged, “Somethin’ about some lass named Kate. Not sure what he sees in her, if I’m bein’ honest, but it makes him happy.”

Dáin saw Thorin’s shoulders relax under his jacket, and pushed him lightly away from the monitor.

"But that’s not what I needed to show ya." With a few more deft clicks of his blunt fingers, Dáin brought up another tab. The screen was suddenly covered with pictures of pigs and axes and a comically close-up photo of Dáin’s face pressed to the computer camera.

Thorin laughed. He couldn’t help it.

"Now isn’t tha’ nice!" Dáin harrumped, and crossed his burly arms "Go on, then. Get it out o’ yer system. I know yer envious."

"Aye, I am, I—" Thorin raised his eyes up to the screen again, and clapped a hand across his mouth as hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes.  _" Is that a pink pig on your tunic there?_ It’s _…Cousin,_ are you aware of that _?”_

Dáin nodded unabashedly. ” Men call him Piglet. He’s bloody adorable, an’ a fine emblem to bear.”

Thorin took a steadying breath. “Indeed, and that one there…that’s—?”

"That one’s known as Waddles." Dáin answered as he twisted a finger through his white mustache. " May I show ya what I wish to now?"

"One moment, what’s this here?" Thorin poked his finger at the screen.  _Hard._ Dáin gasped as he tugged the offending hand away, checked the screen for cracks, and promptly placed Thorin’s palm atop the mouse.

"Use this. Make the arrow go over what ya want, an’ press on the right side when ya—  _gently_ , Thorin! Ach, yer worse then Dís!”

A distant voice drifted in from the other room. Dís was showing the others how to work the dishwasher (finally, a  _practical_  name). 

"Don’t offer me such insult!" she yelled through the thin plaster wall.

“Insult?” Dáin swung around in his seat, the back groaning beneath his bulk as he leaned over it. “ Yer first instinct is t’shove yer boot through any an’ everything! At least Thorin actually holds back a bit!”

There was a tug on Dáin’s shoulder, and he turned back to find his cousin staring at the screen with a furious look in his eyes.

 Dáin cocked his head and sighed knowingly. “Ya clicked on the Dáin hate, didn’t ya?”

"What is this?" he growled. “ Who would dare spread such lies! Saying you stole the throne of Erebor out of greed?  _Stole_  it? I think I may let this..what do you call it—  _sight?_ — taste the blade of Orcrist!”

 ”Who cares?” Dáin answered quickly, double checking to make sure Thorin didn’t have the Elvish sword with him already. “Ya dunnae even realize how many Dwarvish nobles said the same bloody thing when I put that blasted crown on my head.” His voice took on a high-pitched, breathy tone. “ _He’s just a graspin’, greedy son of some lesser line. He can’t be a fair leader, just look at him!’_ An’ they were a mite louder than a couple o’ words on a screen, Thorin.”

Thorin’s nostrils flared, ” I won’t stand you being tarnished in such a fashion, Dáin. You’re a hero.”

Dáin grinned and thumped his shoulder. “Ya won’t know the meanin’ of the word till I show ya what I’ve been meaning to. Here, now. Just a click away. The folk o’ the site call it Thilbo Bagginshield—Ach, clever with the names, aren’t they?”

Thorin’s eyes were suddenly big as saucer pans, and looked liable to pop right out of his skull.

"I took the liberty of making a folder fer ya," Dáin continued happily, and pointed at the bottom screen. Thorin blinked at it,  mouthing what looked suspiciously like ‘Bagginshield for Thorin’ before turning as red as a stop light.

Suddenly, from the other room:

"— No Frerin, not that! Don’t touch that! Mahal’s bloody balls, I think there’s something’s wrong!" Dís cried. “The suds are on the outside! They’re not supposed to do that!”

"Oh no," Dáin groaned. "Blast it all— Whatever ya do, dunnae  _kick_  it, Dís! ” He looked at Thorin again, who had his nose nearly pressed to the white of the screen.

"Akhminruki astû, Dáin." Thorin murmured reverently.

There was a loud thump from outside, followed by a round of scrambled yells from the boys and Dís . 

Dáin ran a large hand down his face.  _Mahal give him strength._

"You're welcome." He said, and left. Thorin didn't even bother looking up.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Khuzdul Translations**  
>  _Birasazriri jazar ni targzu=_ Get a knot in your beard (To take offense; to get worked up, aggravated, or annoyed)  
>  _Akhminruki astû_ = thank you wholeheartedly


End file.
